Gods existence cannot be rationalized epistemologically — it is only through the super-rational assent of faith that the existence of God can be beheld. Anything else, in the words if Mr. Hume, would only be a curious “offspring of the brain“.

So from the perspective of human epistemology, agnostics (the real ones) are on the right track in this regard. Where they falter is, firstly, buying into the spurious notion that knowledge must occur along the lines of the materialist/objectivist paradigm in which most of the Western world is currently entrapped; and, secondly, concluding that this is sufficient reason to discontinue the quest.

While I do not wish to spend an inordinate amount of time analyzing my reading of Hume, I did run across an interesting passage that, at least in my reading, coheres interestingly with arguments that I have made personally, even if they are stated in a different way. In the following selection from "Of a particular Providence and of a future State," Hume recalls a "conversation" which he had with a friend who, donning the persona of Epicurus, seeks to defend the ancient philosopher's "denial of divine existence" before the "mob of Athens."

In the faux Epicurus' estimation, the philosophical necessity of the divine is unfounded in human reason because its fundamental basis is derived from a backward rationalization from the nature of the world. That is, his religious (and political…) persecutors believe in the existence of the gods because the world exists. However, their philosophical belief is not mere superstition; rather, they have made an attempt at a rational system, arguing that the nature of the divine can, in fact, be not only inferred, but moreover established on the basis of that which is germane to human experience.

Of course, the "defense" inevitably takes a very Humian turn, and Epicurus responds:

"When we infer any particular cause from an effect, we must proportion the one to the other, and can never be allowed to ascribe to the cause any qualities, but what are exactly sufficient to produce the effect."

In this, Epicurus argues that while it might be allowable to retroactively infer the nature of a cause from that of a supposed effect, the attributes and qualities which one might assign to the cause can only–by the very nature of this inferential reasoning–extend as far as the qualities and attributes which are perceived in the effect. For Epicurus, then, his religious persecutors are wholly disingenuous, for the attributes and qualities which they assign to the gods completely eclipse that which might be inferred from that which they are believed to have created. He chastises them:

"You find certain phenomena in nature. You seek a cause or author. You imagine that you have found him. You afterward become so enamored of this offspring of your brain, that you imagine it impossible, but that he must produce something greater and more perfect than the present scene of things, which is so full of ill and disorder. You forget, that this superlative intelligence and benevolence are entirely imaginary, or, at least, without any foundation in reason; and that you have no ground to ascribe to him any qualities, but what you see he has actually exerted and displayed in his productions. Let your gods, therefore, O philosophers, be suited to the present appearances of nature: and presume not to alter these appearances by arbitrary suppositions, in order to suit them to the attributes which you so fondly ascribe to your deities."

In other words, Epicurus argues that if his persecutors wish to accuse him of atheism, they must first review the philosophical basis for their own beliefs. If they wish to destroy him for refusing to acknowledge the self-evident existence of the gods-as-inferred from nature, they must themselves recant the inappropriate attributions of qualities and characteristics to the divine that they have made which cannot rationally be established by inference from reflections on nature and human experience alone–and of course, to what beyond these do we have epistemological access?

So enough of Epicurus. I find this line of reasoning interesting because, although hundreds of years old, it has particular relevance to human epistemology in the [post]modern world, especially to religious belief.

In some circles, the artifacts of the reasoning of Epicurus' imaginary interlocutors are alive and well. While they might not seek to establish this or that divine attribute on the basis of the created world, there is within many lines of thinking a driving need to attempt to root particular tenants of belief within some manner of 'proofs', whether scientific, epistemological, historical, or otherwise.

So some will make incredible claims about young "age" of the universe; others will produce tenuous evidence to support a particular "historical" event from religious history; and still others will make sweeping apologetics about the "rationality" of a particular belief. All of this is fine and good; but the real question is what the desired outcome might be?

Let's say that one can prove that the universe is only 6,000 years old, despite every indication to the contrary. Does this establish the existence of God?

And what of Noah's ark? Would a confirmed discovery of this ancient vessel establish the benevolence of God?

Or what of a philosophical argument for the existence of God itself? Would a overwhelmingly compelling argument in this vein automatically affirm the eternality and sovereignty of God?

While it could be argued that these, and an infinite number more of similar arguments might lead a reasonable person to particular conclusions, in the final analysis these attempts to establish religious belief on the basis of reason alone will inevitably fail. For even if one is able to convince a number of otherwise reasonable people that the conclusions which one suggests are valid, the understanding of the divine which is founded on the arguments will, in the reasoning of Hume, never be able to advance beyond the nature of "this offspring of your brain."

Now I am not trying to suggest that reason and rationality are unimportant or somehow opposed to religious belief. My point, rather, is that we must be INCREDIBLY careful in how far we allow our rationalizations to carry us in how we conceive of God. Faith, after all, is not opposed to rationality, but it is other-than rationality. Faith is the means by which we transcend the curious ways in which we make God into our own image; it is the mysterious encounter with the God of the universe as God is, in categories and attributes completely beyond the qualifications of human reason. In Hume's words:

"Mere reason is insufficient to convince us of [religious belief's] veracity: And whoever is moved by Faith to assent to it, is conscious of a continued miracle in his own person, which subverts all the principles of his understanding, and gives him a determination to believe what is most contrary to custom and experience."

Well, this last Saturday night, I did not sleep a wink.  Therefore, all Sunday was somewhat of a daze.  However, somewhere in the midst of it, I was playing this song and was struck by the question posed throughout:  "How I wonder what you are."  Indeed, I thought, how we do wonder what stars are. 

Of course, science tells us that they are giant balls of coalesced stellar gases.  Pa-shaw.  Here's my philosophical analysis.

Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are

Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky

Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are

Are you really just a ball of gas, as the hegenomy of science says?

Why should I believe that, when no one's ever seen it, and no one's ever touched it

I know I've never tasted it; I've never had a side of star with turkey on rye

Maybe it's an animal; maybe just a great machine

It's harder to tell what's real, and separate the make-believe

Maybe it's a giant sheet the ancients spread across the sky

And the moderns came in with their sticks, and only poked holes in it…

That kind of makes sense to me, because I have some holes of my own

And you say, you say, you say I'm a star; or at least I'm made of it

So when I pierced full through, with Western epistemology

Maybe I can be one of your stars; reducible to bare phenomenology

And you say, you say, you say I'm a star; you say, you say, you say I'm a star… 

The reason for my recent absence is that I've been ridiculously busy the last several weeks (likely excuse, right?), so this kind of thinking has had to take a back-seat to more pragmatic concerns…like watching Battlestar Galactica [reimagined]…

So Mofast Manna tagged me to participate in a meme wherein I am supposed to tell my life story in six words of undefined length.  

Okay…Here goes!

The singularity of being and nothingness

In a sort of continuous investigation, Peacocke looks at the nature of causality and its relation to the universe in which we live.  Until the last century, it was generally assumed that causality was a one-way street, a sort of "top-down" movement with determinable and predicatable outcomes.  What recent inquiry has revealed, especially in relation to quantum physics, however, is that causality is infinitely more complex than the old assumptions would leave one to believe.  Because of the interconnectedness of the universe, the precise nexus of the "cause" of an "effect" becomes increasingly blurred as the lines between a "something" as cause and the same "something" as effect converge more closely upon one another.  

So what does this mean?  Far and away from the classic models of the universe which assumed that absolutely predicatability of naturalistic processes could be gained by a sufficient amount of data, this understanding of the interrelatedness of causality reveals that regardless of the data set with which the observer begins, the radomness which is built into the data will forever preclude the possibility of absolute predictability.  

Theologically, such a consideration is interesting, especially in light of discussions of God's relationship to the created order (sovereignty).  That is, if one is declare that God is sovereign, is it possible to also affirm an inherent measure of randomness in the universe?  Or is the seeming randomness merely a symptom of human epistemological limitation, the solution for which God's omniscience holds the magic key?  Many theists, of course, could not countenance the possibility that the randomness of the universe could be actual for God; after all, if randomness–and its corrolary myriad contingencies–exists, is this not something which lies outside of the sovereign power of God?

While I do not wish to traverse this path in this post, I will simply share an intriguing comment made by Peacocke.  He notes that while a universe of absolute law provides no avenues for innovation, growth or creation, an equally random universe precludes the same as well.  Therefore, Peacocke suggests that our universe is a mix of the own, claiming that "the interplay of chance and law is creative" (65).  Could it be that God's creative power, rather than being trumped by the same, is actually revealed in its infinitely wonderful forms through the inherent randomness of the universe?

One obvious conclusion of these observations is that it remains no longer possible to speak of reality (people, events, weather, solar systems, etc.) as a series of potentially related, yet closed "systems."  No matter how small or seemingly significant something may be, its existence comes to bear on the whole of all else that exists–the butterfly in Cuba disturbing the air effects change in the weather patters in Los Angelas.  In this way, space/time is shot through with interconnectedness as all that exists partakes of a shared life and ontology.  

Unfortunately, Peacocke does not make any theological conclusions based on these reflections in this chapter (I assume he is waiting for later development).  Given his penchant for process theology, I can imagine the direction he will go.  However, I think some preliminary observations are noteworthy.

First, for the doctrine of creation, this notion of "interconnectedness" is extremely promising.  Christians affirm that God created ALL things good.  As "good," it is apparent that the objects of such a designation are imbued with an intrinsic worth in that God would a.) create and b.) proclaim that which is created, exhaustively, "good."  Theologically, this divine imbuing of worth requires a reorientation of our own valuations of creation.  Rather than viewing the creation as an object of consumption–a commodity with which we can choose to do as we please–this divine "valuing" of creation demands our respect and bids us to find the beauty, goodness and worth in creation which God has instilled within it.  Moreover, over and against the human tendancy to valuate only human life as possessing inherent worth, such a perspective of the interconnected divine valution of creation calls us to structure our lives, work and pursuits in such a way as to affirm–not deny–the same.

In the same way, these considerations also hold great promise for a re-appropriation of the ancient Christian understanding of atonement as recapitulation.  Often, atonement theology tends to focus myopically on the human person, more precisely on the fate of the abstracted "soul."  By incorporating these considerations about the interconnected goodness of creation, however, such a narrow and specie-istic conception of atonement no longer remains tenable.  As opposed to only speaking of the salvation of the human soul, an atonement theology which takes seriously the goodness of God's creation and the universality of Christ's redemptive work recognizes that far and above speaking only of human persons, the atonement of Christ is the recreative work of God in history, the recapitulating of the goodness of God's creation which has been distorted by human sinfulness.  Moreover, such conclusions remove atonement as becoming commoditized, as if it is the possession of human persons.  Quite to the contrary, this reorientation of atonement outlined above views the atoning work of Christ as something in which humans participate with the rest of creation, not something which they grasp and possess to the exclusion of all that which God has declared "good."

And finally, regarding the resurrection, much of what has been said above is equally true.  Instead of reducing the resurrection and "heaven" to considerations of the exclusivity of relationship between God and humans alone, the interconnectedness of God's good creation proclaims that the recapitulating work of Christ in atonement is the groundwork for the resurrection–the recreation–of that which God has created good.  Just as atonement is not the exclusive possession of human persons, neither is resurrection the sole property of the human soul.  Rather, as God in Christ redeems ALL that which God has created, so too is the resurrection–the "new heaven and new earth"–necessarily encompassing of that which God has created.

Obviously, these are only some extremly brief and necessarily incomplete conclusions.  However, I think they sufficiently illustrate the promise of the course which Peacocke has chosen to pursue in his work.  I am looking forward to the remaining chapters! 

I have long been fascinated by the relationship between theology and science, and over the course of my past research into these issues, Peacocke's writings have factored heavily in the development of my tentative conclusions.  While many of Peacocke's writings focus on exploring the meaningfulness of theology and science on specific levels (e.g., evolutionary theory), this work seeks to establish a more fundamental link between the two.  In a nutshell, Peacocke argues that as both the sciences and theology engage many of the same properties of the human search for significance, knowledge and meaning, so too are they inextricably related to one another.  To the chagrin of many antagonists, Peacocke argues that the notion that each pursuit operates within easily bifurcated realms of discussion is the height of naivety and signifies a lack of intellectual honesty about the integral part of each to the being and becoming of the human person.

In the introduction to this quest, Peacocke strives to define what he understands as a necessary rubric for approaching the study of both science and theology.  Simply put, Peacocke argues that what is needed in both is a critical realism.  What this means to scientific pursuit is that the objects of study–whether theoretical or observational–are prima facie understood as signifying some bit of reality.  However, no idealism is taken for granted, as if the objects of study (and there subsequent linguistic, theoretical metaphors) are rigidly and dogmatically asserted to encompass reality within themselves; rather, a realism is assumed that allows for signification of reality while concomitantly permitting revision of metaphor in light of modification of understanding.  In exactly the same way, Peacocke suggests that a critical realism is precisely what is needed in theological study.  While the truths asserted are still understood to signify reality, they are also posited in such a way as to incorporate a humility and acknowledgement concerning the limits, finitude and falibility of human epistemology.

What Peacocke hopes to do in the application of critical realism to both science and theological study, ultimately, is to remove any fabricated heirarchy between the two.  Such critical realism removes the "primacy of observability" from science as well as the exclusivity of spiritual purity from theology.  Each are infused with a dose of humilty and realism so as to prevent either from making grandiose and unsustainable claims about their precision of their metaphors and the realities which they attempt to signify over and against the other.  And in the wake of such deconstruction, each can find a symbiotic place in the human search for truth, meaning and significance.

Rabbi Boteach began by suggesting that rather than being "over-sexed," American culture is actually suffering from a lack of genuine, intimate sexuality that is the ideal of human relatedness. The sex crisis in America, according to Boteach, is not sexual, but pornographic. To Boteach, the perversion in American sexuality stems from the fact that like all other areas of American society, sexuality and human relationships in general have become one more commodity to be bought and sold between individuals. In such a scenario, human persons become objectified and commoditized and sexuality loses any meaning as it lacks the vulnerability and celebration that marks the nature of healthy, non-objectified human relationships.

Mohler, on the other hand, objectified the problem of sexuality in America, not by thinking of it as a commodity to be bartered between persons, but rather by casting it as an abstracted object of moral law. To Mohler, the problem of the perversity of American sexuality stems from violation of penal statutes of divine moral law. Persons feel guilt about these violations because, in his words, their consciences reflect–albeit obscurely–the moral law inherent to human existence. Simillary, the destruction of human relationship as the result of unlawful sexual activity derives from judicial consquences of said violations, the fitting and necessary result of an existing which is askance in relation to divine moral law.

On the whole, I am not a big fan of Rabbi Boteach. However, in the context of this conversation, I think he is dead on. His line of thinking basically begins from the consideration of the human person as the imago dei, the image of God. Upon this foundation, Boteach argues–I think rightly–that distoritions and perversions in sexual relationships accrue to disorientation and destruction to the person not primarily because of penal retribution doled out by an offended deity, but more appropriately because such actions and ways of relating undermine the fundamental nature of the human person created in the image of God. That is, when human persons treat one another–in their sexuality or otherwise–as objectified commodities, disaster can be the only result because the primal way of relating to one another has been destroyed. When one person no longer relates to another as created in the image of God, but rather appropriates their existence on the base level of commodification, oppression, violence and annihilation of personhood can be the only outcome.

This is why I think Mohler's suggestion is untenable, for while it does, perhaps, attempt to maintain the viability of the personhood of the individuals involved, on a collective level it fundamentally invalidates the imago dei of both by positing that the primary way of relating between God and humanity operates on the level of moral law, rather than the intereleatedness of person-al communion. By tracing the perversion and corruption of sexuality (as exhibited in American culture) to mere violations of abstracted standards of ethical life, Mohler's system of moralizing does not present a solution to the violence and oppression engendered by perversions of sexual relationships. Quite to the contrary, it creates yet another system of oppression, violence and dehumanization, one which is not rooted in the over-power of one person over another, but rather (and more terrifyingly) in a fundamental objectifying of human persons as objects of law and not persons which image the nature and personhood of God.

With the dawn of the Enlightenment, it seemed to many that the evolution of human epistemology was nearly complete. The application of logic and scientific methodology, to the minds slowly waking from the lethargy and darkness of the Middle Ages, seemed incontrovertible proof that absolute knowledge was not only extant within the universe, but moreover that it was the proper subject of investigation, from the phenomenological, to the legal, and even to the metaphysical. In all areas of thought and study, the Western mind was intoxicated with the seeming success of propositional truth and its corollary assertion within the parameters of human paradigms of thinking.

However, as the unimpeded rush to lay claim to the absolute and objective proceeded forward at a frenzied pace, the tiny cracks of inconsistency which at first seemed to be but small bumps in the road to a fully formed and infinitely encompassing epistemology soon manifested itself for the disastrous cancer which it had always been. Like a patient who has learned that they are terminally ill and that nothing can be done to stop the spread of the destroyer, the modern Western mind was seized by the throes of the deconstructing power of its own blind flaws. Out of the cancerous remains arose the deadly doppelganger, the clarion call of the hastening demise of modernism's all-too comfortable handling of categories of objectivity and truth.

While many definitions have been proffered to explain post-modernism's varied and plastic nature, the fundamental shift in thinking was not towards a new idea of truth and objectivity, but rather a deconstruction of the old, unquestioned assumptions concerning these categories. Rather than heralding itself as a move forward beyond the "ignorant and ancient" ways of thinking that preceded, post-modern thinking called into question the very legitimacy and usefulness of such ways of thinking altogether. In other words, post-modernism was no Einsteinian revolution–that is, another way of envisioning the universe that incorporates the Newtonian categories which came before while radically reorienting them. Such a "revolution" is non-violent for it engages both ways of thinking as the reforming voice gently, yet firmly coaxes and goads the progenitor to embrace the new way of thinking while recognizing and concomitantly embracing that which has come before. But with post-moderninism, no such peaceful reconciliation is possible. As post-modernism seeks to deconstruct, or get back to human epistemology before–or apart from–the categories of modernistic thinking, the Einsteinian velvet glove is traded for a mace and dagger: this revolution is bloody, and cannot be otherwise.

At the center of this apocalypse, of course, is the battle over how human epistemology defines truth. Truth, after all, was the self-proclaimed object of the Enlightenment's desire. Modernistic thinking sought to encapsulate within the paradigms of human thought that which was objective, and propositionally verifiable–in short, truth. Such a deconstruction of this stated goal by post-modernism, then, was not taken kindly by those beholden to the categories of Western Enlightenment thinking. Such a deconstruction of the categories of modernistic rationalism appeared nothing less than an all-out assault on the very fabric of the universality of truth. It is not surprising, then, that the now-classic modernist response to the post-modern modus operandi is centered around accusations of "denying the existence of absolute truth" and "making everything truth."

What is missed in the rhetoric, however, is that post-modernism suggests no such denial of truth. Truth, as a categorically objective reality, could only be denied as such if one were to concomitantly affirm the nature of truth as categorically objective. But as already pointed out, the entire methodological programme of post-modernism is not to challenge the conclusions of modernistic thinking, per se (as such a challenge would, again, presuppose the legitimacy of the categories depended upon by modernistic categories of truth and objectivity), but rather to call into question the comfortable assumptions about the objective reality of truth, and the subsequent ability of human epistemology to speak propositionally about the same, as if the latter could encapsulate within itself the former to such an extent that the former could become an object of investigation, explication and, ultimately, manipulation.

If it to be said, then, that the deconstructing influence of post-modern thinking has sufficiently removed what had been, for centuries, unquestioned assumptions about the nature of truth, what is one to make of Jesus' words quoted above? If it remains no longer philosophical tenable to assert the identity of this "truth" on the basis of objectively determinable criterion, can one even speak of "truth"?

In one important sense, the answer is "no." If the categories of objectivity and absolutism are, contrary the assumptions of modernistic paradigms of thought, not proper objects of human epistemological control and manipulation, then it remains impossible for the assertion of truth to operate on the level of propositionalism. As with the abuses of modernistic thinking, all modes of thinking that assume otherwise quickly devolve into violent, manipulative and hegemonic paradigms that, while passing themselves off as "absolute truth", are inherently oppressive and destructive. So if the necessary propositionalism of modernistic thought removes the possibility of speaking about truth, what is the way forward?

A now classic feature of postmodern thinking is that meaning–rather than being objectively accessed by the human mind — is found in community, the shared experience and life of persons within the various contexts in which they find themselves. From childhood formation, to teenage social development, to the solidification of hegemonies of thought in adulthood, the molding and shaping of meaning is bourne out of the myriad shared contexts, environments and consciousnesses in which persons exist. Contra the abstracted and individuated conception of knowledge primary to modernism's philosophical methodology, post-modernism understands knowledge–and truth itself–to arise not out of solitary epistemological investigations of absolute sources of knowledge, but rather from the shared life and experience of persons-in-community.

Surprisingly, and to the modernist's horror, such an understanding of truth would seem to square quite nicely with Jesus' words above which provide the impetus for this discussion. While Jesus certainly advocates that his disciples will "know the truth," his conversation suggests nothing of objectivity or abstracted parallels to propositionally verifiable absolutes. Rather, the condition for their "knowledge" of the truth is incumbent upon the disciples existing in communion with Christ, learning of him and following the example which he has set for them. Even Christ's greatest commandment to those who would know the truth is no secret epistemological key that will unlock the treasures of propositional truth; rather, it is the imperative to love God and others. To Jesus, the truth of God is not revealed in propositional language about God, or even about himself. Quite to the scandalous contrary, the truth of God is revealed in the mundane, the dirty and the undesirable.

Christ does indeed call his followers to the truth, and it is Christ himself who is revealed as the truth of God. But this truth is not a truth that can be violently asserted over and against all other competing hegemonies of thought, as if it were simply the most philosophical viable of all rival opinions. Rather, this truth is manifested in the freedom that is revealed within the community of God&
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ple as they live within and promote the Shalom of the kingdom of God that has been revealed in the Incarnation of very God in Christ. This truth, ironically, makes no claims about its philosophical tenability or demonstrable viability, for it has nothing to do with these. No, the truth of Christ, the truth that makes free, is the very life of Christ revealed and unleashed by the Spirit of God within the Church, the community of Christ's disciples.

In this way, then, post-modernism changes nothing for the gospel, save perhaps freeing those who preach it and live it from the fabricated need to concoct arguments about it that will obtain to modernistic criteria for truth. Just as Christ formed and established a community of believers that would "know" the truth of God because of its power and presence in its midst by the Spirit of the Triune God, so too does the Church today proclaim the truth when it images the love of God in a world in which truth is an ever-changing commodity. In this way, the question need not be whether one should hold to modern or post-modern philosophical categories. Neither are capable of encapsulating the truth, and the assertion of the truth by the criteria of either will lead to nothing more than the old violent and destructive patters of the past. Therefore, as no philosophical paradigm is inherently capable or proper for speaking of the truth of God revealed in Christ, the doors are burst wide for the people of God to proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God revealed in the Incarnation of Christ without the need to tether it to the latest (or most venerably held) philosophical tradition. As this is, in fact, the very example of Christ, let us simply be his disciples: it is only herein that the truth can be known and freeing.

"A miracle is an event which occurs in space/time which can not be explained on the basis of knowledge concerning the laws and processes of the natural universe"

Thumbing through my desktop Oxford, the technical definition is not meaningfully different:

"An effect or extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause."

At first glance, this definition of the miraculous seems quite sensical; after all, there is plenty of naturalistic phenomenon which cannot be explained on the basis of current knowledge of the physical universe. Is it not convenient, then, to be able to locate these phenomenon within a helpfully organizing philological (and perhaps metaphysical?) category? While such a linguistic grouping might be categorically helpful, I would suggest that such a definition of the miraculous is not only misleading, but moreover (and more importantly) disastrous to the viability of speaking about the miraculous en toto.

Consider the definition again:

"A miracle is an event which occurs in space/time which can not be explained on the basis of knowledge concerning the laws and processess of the natural universe"
According to this criterion, a miracle is such only in juxtaposition to human ignorance of naturalistic phenomenon and its correlate functionality within the schema of the cosmos. So the problem is plain and completely obvious: that which is ascribed miraculous nature is quickly dissolved in meaningfulness as knowledge of the natural universe and its processes increases. That is, as human knowledge gains access to organizational paradigms for explicating the reason and processes of that which was formerly unknown on the basis of phenomenological observation, so the species of the miraculous is proportionately diminished.

Now many, of course, will suggest that this is not a problem, for no matter the extent of the attainment of human knowledge, there will always be certain aspects of phenomenological reality that will be beyond the reach of human comprehension. While the legitimacy of such an assertion is hardly self-evident (after all, does not such an assertion require a seemingly contradictory faith in the abilities of human epistemology to adjudicate its own limits?), the actualization or non-actualization of absolute knowledge concerning the physical universe is immaterial to the conversation. The reason is this: As long as the definition of the miraculous is premised upon ignorance of the natural universe, the extent to which the category of "miracle" is meaningful will be relegated to an inverse relationship to the contents of human knowledge. That is, based upon the criterion outlined above, where human knowledge is minimal, the miraculous will have the greatest meaning, and where human knowledge is greatest, the miraculous will have the minimal amount of meaning. Even if one can argue that human knowledge of the universe can never attain absoluteness, the capacity for human knowledge of the physical universe is indisputably infinite (for the location of the precise limits of human knowledge concerning the physical universe would require a certitude which is categorically denied by this thinking). Therefore, given a hypothetical infinite amount of time, human knowledge of the physical universe can attain infinitude, while the category of the miraculous will concomitantly attain an infinitude of smallness.

Clearly, then, the approximation of the miraculous with that which is unexplainable on the basis of human knowledge concerning the processes and nature of phenomenological reality is a shaky, and utterly destructive premise. It is destructive not only because it is short-sighted in locating the criterion for the miraculous in the limits of human knowledge of observable reality, but moreover because it makes a categorical error in concomitantly appealing to the antithesis of this knowledge as its means of verification and authentication. That is, even though the definition of the miraculous is ultimately posited in the inability of human epistemology to fully explicate the nature and processes of the physical universe, this very same definition relies upon an inherent infusion of this same limited epistemological methodology with an absolute attribution of authority and infallibility whereby the limited nature of human epistemology might be classified as an appropriate criterion for determining the nature and method of the miraculous! In other words, the inerrancy of human knowledge is used to prove the errancy of the same, resulting in a gross contradiction whose main casualty is the philosophical and categorical meaningfulness of the miraculous.

The logic which I have laid out is, unfortunately, all too readily displayed in modern tensions between human epistemology and the miraculous. Because of the inappropriate union between the miraculous and human ignorance in the past, the incredible proliferation of human knowledge within the last few centuries has led many to believe that experimental proof against the existence of the miraculous is not only possible, but moreover inescapably inevitable. As human knowledge increases, many of those things categorized as "miraculous" by peoples of the past are being explained purely on the basis of phenomenological observations of the universe. This has, not surprisingly, created more than a suspicion within the minds of many that the "miraculous" has ceased to be a philosophically tenable category, and should be relegated merely to a religious synonym for the vagrancies of (temporary) human ignorance.

More unfortunate, however, has been the reaction of many conscientious defenders of the miraculous. Rather than attempting to articulate an understanding of miracles that rises above the inevitable failings of the view outlined above, these apologists engage in a what inevitably amounts to a perpetual intellectual retreat, trying to maintain the definitional status quo while synchronously attacking the gains in human knowledge concerning the physical universe in order to preserve the assumed miraculous nature of that which is considered perfectly "natural" by their antagonists.
A perfect example, of course, is the disagreements over evolutionary theory and big bang cosmology. Many self-styled defenders of the miraculous begin with the presupposition that the creation of the universe–particularly of humanity–is a miraculous event. Of course, it must be remembered that the criterion for the attribution of the miraculous is based upon human ignorance of the means and processes of such an event. Therefore, when biologists and cosmologists point to advances in human epistemology that provide compelling depictions of the naturalistic processes which formed the background for the rise and development of the universe, these apologists must reject such proposals. Their rejection, however, is not based purely on so-called "contrary" phenomenological evidence. Rather, the objection is primordially located within a philosophical response to the contradiction of their attribution of "miracle" to creation. No matter how compelling the observations and depictions may be, the philosophical will rule the day, providing the filter through which the examination and ultimate evaluation of such evidence must be passed.

The question, then, is whether the category of "miracle" has any meaning beyond philosophical polemics. Is there a way in which to conceive of the miraculous without falling

into the pitfalls outlined above? I would suggest that the answer is "yes," and I will outline some cursory reasons in my next post.